Sophie was his wife, and she owned the little bookshop a few doors down. Marnie had already stopped in twice, unable to resist the cozy space with its overstuffed chairs and the smell of old paper and fresh coffee.
“Why don’t we make a trade,” he said. “I’ll put together this desk for you and you can hang your sign.”
He held up the hand-carved wooden sign that said Whitlock Photography etched on each side, the letters elegant and professional.
“Oh, it’s finished,” she said, genuinely surprised. Excitement thrummed inside her. It was really starting to feel real. She was back and she was opening a business of her own. “It’s beautiful. Just how I envisioned it. Thank you so much.”
She reached out to take it from him and gently traced the letters with her fingertip. All those years of running, of moving from place to place, of never putting down roots—and now here she was, about to hang a sign with her name on it in the town where she’d grown up.
“You’ve got a deal,” she said. “That beast of a desk is all yours.”
Her smile was relaxed and easy, and she realized that despite her fears about coming back to Laurel Valley, she was home. Good or bad. This was what home felt like. What she’d been missing all the years in between.
She grabbed the little ladder she’d propped against the wall and took it outside while Hank rolled up his sleeves and got to work on the desk. She would’ve felt him coming if she hadn’t been mentally cursing the little hook that refused to cooperate as she tried to hang the sign.
“Need some help?” a familiar voice said from below.
She let go of the sign to catch her balance and teetered back and forth, bumping her head on the wooden edge as it dangled from one hook and swayed precariously.
“Easy there,” Beckett said, his voice calm and steady. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay. I wasn’t paying attention.”
She looked down at his hands steadying the ladder and then took a deep breath before finally meeting his eyes. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long—there was too much between them, too much history and heartache—but she did it. Then she focused on climbing down so she could be on solid ground.
He looked good. That was all she could think as her brain struggled to catch up with reality. He’d grown from the lanky, fit teenager she remembered into a man who looked like he’d earned his muscles from hard work instead of the inside of a gym. A soft blue shirt stretched across broad shoulders and he wore a darker blue flannel over it like a jacket. His jeans were worn at the knees and his boots had seen better days.
His hair was gilded at the tips from the sun, the waves unruly and a little bit long, like he’d missed his last few haircuts. His face was bronzed and little lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes when he smiled—smile lines, her mother would have called them. There was a small white scar at his chin that hadn’t been there when she’d known him before. She wondered how he’d gotten it. Wondered about all the years and all the things she’d missed.
“I heard you were back in town,” he said.
She rolled her eyes before she could help herself. “You and everyone else. Lila Rose spread the news faster than wildfire.”
He smiled, and something warm unfurled in her chest at the sight of it. “My daddy always used to say find what you’re good at and stick with it. At least she’s consistent. News like that is what keeps this town going.”
“I know,” she said. “I haven’t been gone that long. And I witnessed your little showdown with Hazel the other day. I guess I should probably thank you for taking some of the attention away from me.”
He winced and she could feel the turmoil inside him without even trying. Beckett had never liked for anyone to hurt or be hurt, even when they deserved it. She immediately regretted bringing it up.
“She’s got too much pride and doesn’t like to lose,” he said, shaking his head. “And she’s vindictive on top of it. Not a good combination. But my reputation will weather the storm. She’s going to have to live with that little stunt for the rest of her life.”
Marnie almost asked him what he’d seen in Hazel in the first place, but she caught herself and took a step back. It wasn’t any of her business what he did in his personal life. She’d given up that right fifteen years ago when she’d climbed into that social services van and never looked back.
It was different seeing her up close and in person rather than from the pictures he’d found on the internet over the years.
The pictures didn’t show that she was just a little too thin. Or that when she let down her guard, sadness and defeat crept into her eyes like shadows at dusk. He’d known her as a child and a teenager. And even though he hadn’t understood the abuse or the kind of nightmare she’d been living, she’d still had that solid core of spine and determination that had been part of her appeal. That quiet strength that had drawn him to her in the first place.
Now she just looked tired. Worn down in ways that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.
He’d never gotten over what had happened fifteen years ago. From their first kiss on the Ferris wheel, to the moment he’d watched Harley drag her away, to the second he’d gotten the news that the truck had been found burned to a crisp at the bottom of Hollow Gorge with two bodies inside. He’d been physically sick at the thought of what she must have endured before social services came for her. At the thought that he hadn’t been able to protect her.
And now that he was looking at her again, face-to-face, all he wanted was to hold her close and make the sadness disappear. He wanted her trust and a second chance at what they’d started so long ago. But he wouldn’t push her. She looked like a trapped animal, her eyes wide and her stance angled back, already looking for an escape route. The first order of business was to get her to trust him again.
“Are you going to let me help you with your sign?” He asked, “Or are you going to be stubborn about it?”
“I can do it,” she said, her back stiffening.
“I know you can do it. But sometimes it’s nice to accept help when it’s offered. It’s called being neighborly.”
